


Interlude: That Awakens And Consumes

by simaetha



Series: radiance [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alignment Swap, Climate Change, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simaetha/pseuds/simaetha
Summary: Clouds stirred by the wind, running like smoke before it, and the glimmer of the stars beyond. The deep black of the sky between them - thinning, slightly.Meanwhile, in Valinor, and its effects elsewhere.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tyelperinquar - Celebrimbor  
> Mairon - Sauron's original name  
> Nacindë - Curufin's unnamed canonical wife; effectively an OC  
> Fëanáro - Fëanor  
> Nolofinwë - Fingolfin

Stars scattered past the clouds, and a cold wind from the North, leaving a taste of ashes at the back of the mouth. Mairon stands, looking out past jagged rock walls, the line of a frown starting to draw itself between his brows.

Tyelperinquar glances up from sketching, and hesitates, adding the last details to the chart in his hands. Out of the wind, the lamp he carries is sheltered by the walls of the pass; he covers it, carefully, before straightening.

"Mairon - ?"

A glance back at him, the line of Mairon's shoulder's shifting and resettling. Folding the chart away, Tyelperinquar moves to join him, coming to stand at his side.

A faint, abstract smile, golden eyes glinting in the shadows.

"Is there something - ?" Tyelperinquar asks, at length.

Mairon hums in slight frustration, low in his throat. Tyelperinquar leans in against the other's shoulder, looking out from the rock. Shadows; and a dim, ruddy glow, burning continually in the North.

Darkness, above. Fire burns, far below: but the sky overhead is endlessly black, without even the distant flicker of reflected Treelight to touch its depths.

Tyelperinquar - blinks.

" _Mairon_ \- "

Clouds stirred by the wind, running like smoke before it, and the glimmer of the stars beyond. The deep black of the sky between them - thinning, slightly.

Slowly, and inconstantly, beyond the mountains, the western horizon begins to grey with the rising light.

***

Shutters closed, cutlery clinks against a plate, the fire still high and crackling in the hearth.

Nacindë refills Nerdanel’s glass, a few bright drops of wine spilling as she pours, the red stain spreading outwards through the tablecloth. The house in Tirion is quiet, sections of it covered off and unused; Nacindë finds herself talking too loudly, waiting for voices that never come.

“I mean,” she says, gesturing with her other hand, “what else was I going to do, just keep shouting at him? Not that it wasn’t a temptation, obviously – “

The corner of Nerdanel’s mouth crooks upwards, slightly.

“And it’s not as if I don’t _understand_ – or as if I don’t agree that we should do _something_. But we’ve seen what happens when the Eldar try to fight the gods, and it didn’t look to me as if Finwë Noldóran was _winning_ – “

" _Nacindë_ ," Nerdanel says, at that, and Nacindë cuts herself off, apology flashing over her face.

“Well,” she says. “I knew him, too. And – it doesn’t take any great insight into the depths of our late monarch’s heart to realise _he_ wouldn’t have wanted his sons risking themselves to avenge him, either.”

Nerdanel lets the pause stretch out just long enough to be uncomfortable, before she speaks.

“No,” she says. "But given that what Finwë _wanted_ was for his family to all get along and stop threatening each other with swords in the middle of Tirion, I think it's safe to say we were a long way past pretending on _that_ point."

She sighs, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers.

"I thought we'd have _time_ ," she adds, biting her lip. "Maybe if I'd just had the fight with Fëanáro as soon as I saw how things were going, we'd have had it all out back then - but I kept thinking, surely if I just wait, he'll remember he cares what his wife thinks of him _eventually_ \- "

"Oh, Nerdanel - "

"Well," Nerdanel says, crooking her mouth upwards again, bitterly. "I suppose Finwë and I were both wrong, in that respect. But you didn't come here to talk about _me_ , Nacindë."

Nacindë bites her lip.

"No," she says, after a moment. "I'm tired of _waiting_ , Nerdanel, aren't you? What are we going to _do_?"

***

Light, on the Ezellohar.

A petal unfurls, then another, spiralling outwards, until the spray of flowers wakes and shines in its confinement, bright dew beading on its surface, spilling out over Varda’s hands.

The Star-Queen smiles, face downturned to gaze at what remains of Telperion, cupped in her fingers like a child’s bauble. Her hair falls around her, a curtain of darkness sweeping briefly past the pale light trapped and sheltered in its crystal sphere.

Or: the Moon, in the night sky, welcomed by the stars.

Yavanna glances upwards, her own mouth twisting in bitter reflection. Varda, smile still caught on her lips, returns her gaze, radiant; and the hard hunch of Yavanna’s shoulders relaxes, a little.

“Well,” Yavanna says, after a moment, “what _now_?”

Her voice is still harsh. On the blackened earth of the mound, beneath dead branches, she sits curled in on herself: cradling the Sun against her stomach, a hot blaze welling past the grey gnarl of her fingers. Her hair is a tumble of autumn leaves, brown and brittle gold.

 _I grieve too, sister_ , Varda says, calmly.

“Yes,” says Yavanna, flatly, “you said that after Almaren, as well. Not all of our creations are as unassailable as yours, Kindler."

Varda looks at her, patiently, her eyes the silence into which all things fall; the bright disk of an event horizon.

“Fine. _Be_ that way.”

Yavanna stands, in a crackle of dry bark, roots sinking into the earth beneath her as she rises. The Sun banks itself to a warm glow; briefly, its light mingles with its sibling’s, approximating for a moment the silver-gold of a remembered hour.

“Well?”

Yavanna's smile is set with serrated needles of bone-white teeth.

Varda returns it. The Moon in her hands is very small; or else she is already the encompassing night -

***

"Yes, of _course_ it's made from the Trees," Fëanáro says, frustrated, shoving papers to one side with an impatient gesture as he hunts through the work-desk. "I _do_ have some small knowledge of spectrography, you might recall, also a certain familiarity with - "

"Fëanáro - "

"Have you seen the _plants_ , the Grey-folk say they've never seen anything like this before - "

"Yes," Nolofinwë says, patiently. "I was planning to send patrols out to the local settlements to see if they needed help. Is there anything in particular I should ask to be included in the reports?"

Fëanáro - pauses, and straightens, setting down the sheaf of notes in his hand.

"Yes," he says, in a different tone. "We should offer them all the help we can. I can have a list of questions drawn up, so we can start collecting data - I _hope_ the Earth-Queen knows what she's doing, but - "

"One would _hope_ ," Nolofinwë says, raising an eyebrow, and Fëanáro, briefly, relaxes enough to grin at him.

"I'll ask Curufinwë to make a list. And - Nolofinwë - "

He hesitates.

"I - thank you," he says, to Nolofinwë's sudden, startled smile.

***

Heat, and light, scouring the rock.

The garden is, slowly, dying. Vines grown in shelter wither and blacken, their dark foliage curling inwards; around steaming, poisoned pools, flowers burst and decay, wilting in the first brightness of the day.

Arien, at its centre, stands: and looks up.

 _A poor trick_ , the Valarauko says, approaching, in its voice of fire and ash. _And wholly inadequate_. _Has not our lord already extinguished the greater lights from which these came? What hindrance should these lesser give him now?_

"The Trees," Arien says, in agreement. "Oh, I know. Does Varda guide these, do you think? Or has she merely set a path for them to follow as they will? I remember Laurelin, in her glory - "

The sky, for the first time, is blue over Thangorodrim. Smoke rises up from its peaks; the light turns particulate matter in the air above to a wash of rose and gold.

 _Come. Our lord summons_.

Fire leaps around Arien as she smiles, face still turned upwards to the Sun, her own brightness blazing forth in the daylight.

The first new shoots are already budding at her feet.

"How wonderful," she says, laughing. "Look how bright she still is! I need to redesign - oh, I can do so _much_."

 


End file.
